The Glitch in Time
by sphaena
Summary: Hermione and Voldemort vanish from the last battle, only to appear in the time where Phineas Nigellus Black was Headmaster of Hogwarts. A certain Malfoy is stirring up rebellion back home, and tension rises...
1. Of Stray Curses and Time Twiddling

AN~ This is my first attempt at a multi-chaptered fanfic, so please tell me whether or not it's any good. R + Review!

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Chapter One – of Stray Curses and the Twiddling of Time

Jinxes and curses were flying everywhere, disturbing the peace of the ancient grounds. Hogwarts was under siege; its earth tainted with bloodshed, and the once impenetrable darkness of midnight around the castle was now alight with numerous sparks – each containing deadly poison; sent with aim but no guilt.

In the midst of the din and chaos were two duelling figures: one, clearly the elder of the two, standing with an unshakable confidence while performing advanced curses perfected after decades of practice; the other, noticeably younger and less-experienced, held an equal sense of confidence powered by determination etched in her fiercely blazing eyes.

Neither spoke.

They were both deeply entranced in the curses thrown by the other – blocking out their awareness of the battle around them.

Suddenly, a brilliant streak of violet light escaped from the battle and interrupted their duel.

Lord Voldemort paused for a millisecond as he noticed it flying towards him.

"_Tempus Rindictus!"_

A second beam of light made their way towards him, royal blue in colour.

A small flicker of surprise was registered in the blood-red eyes of the Dark Lord – the only characteristic visible behind the dark robes and mask – before the two beams intertwined and hit him squarely in the chest.

Everyone seemed to freeze at this, as if someone had simply pressed the 'pause' button on a remote control. Then, slowly, the combined beams came back out of Voldemort's chest and flew into his opponent's.

A brilliant white light then surrounded the two, making everyone avert their eyes, confused and wary. When the white light had gone all eyes returned to the pair – or, to be more precise, the empty space in the middle of the battlefield that previously, only seconds before, held a fiercely duelling pair.

Lord Voldemort and Hermione Granger had seemingly vanished.

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"Professor, what happened?" Harry asked for the millionth time.

Dumbledore paused, a grave look painted on his face, before answering, "I'm not sure what exactly happened, Harry," he stopped and looked at Harry through his half-moon glasses. He leaned back and sighed.

"I can only give you my best guesses, but at the moment there can be any number of estimations."

"But your guesses are always right, aren't they?" Harry said quickly, "I mean, last year, you knew all about Draco's plan to murder you."

Dumbledore allowed himself a small smile, though there was no sign of that familiar twinkle in his eyes, "Not always, but mostly."

"Where do vanished objects go?" Dumbledore suddenly asked.

"Er…what?"

"Where do vanished objects go?" Professor Dumbledore repeated.

"Um…into non-being…everywhere?" Harry ventured, remembering the riddles at the entrance to Ravenclaw Tower.

"Yes. The spell that Hermione hit Voldemort with, Tempus Rindictus, is an immensely complex curse that manipulates time. It was designed to entrap the victim in a timeless era, a place that is neither here nor there. The victim would forever be captured in the seams of time, as though vanished. In other words, they go into non-being, which is everywhere."

"So…Voldemort's gone?" whispered Harry, hardly able to believe he had escaped his fate. But what about –

" Hermione— "

"Remember the first unidentifiable spell that hit Voldemort? That altered the second in some way, so, no, Hermione is not vanished along with Lord Voldemort. I guess they would be somewhere along the fragile thread of time. The best we can do now is to hope for the best, Harry."

Harry slumped down into the chair, feeling as though Voldemort had already won the war. Dumbledore had not explained anything. Yet again, it was all mysteries and no answers. He seemed to be losing all those who were close to him…First his parents, then Sirius, now one of his best friends. He took Dumbledore's advice to heart, fervently praying to the gods above that Hermione might one day return from this ordeal. It was all he could hope for as the sun outside the Headmaster's study window slowly reached its zenith.

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Meanwhile, in a heavily warded cave amongst the Himalayas, a group sat huddled around a fire. They each wore a hooded cloak that disguised their faces, but even without the visual aids it was clear that the atmosphere was tense. Whispers echoed to and from the cave walls.

"What happened?"

"You don't think it was that Mudblood's fault!"

"Who else could it be, Rabastan?"

"He's not _dead, _is he?"

"Shush…if he isn't you'd be."

"What do we do now?"

"We're being rounded up by the minute without his leadership!"

One spoke louder than the rest.

"We need to elect a new leader." He said, his voice carrying an authority only evident in the aristocratic.

All the hooded heads turned in his direction.

Silence.

Finally, another hooded figure sitting opposite the man asked, "But, Lucius…what about…" The figure paused to find a suitable word. Upon finding none, he said, "What about _him_?"

Lucius Malfoy's reply was brisk, "Forget about Voldemort –" Everyone gasped. "— he's gone. Just like seventeen years ago, he has once again abandoned us, but this time perhaps for good."

Another raised his hood slightly, the tip of a greasy nose showing in the dim light of the fire. "But the question is, _who_ will be the new leader?"

"Myself, of course." Said Lucius, glaring at everyone present, as though daring them to disagree. An uncomfortable silence followed.

All at once, the silence was broken by a shuffling sound and a furious shout of protest.

"I refuse!" Heads turned again to face Bellatrix Black, the infamous torturer of the Longbottoms. She stood, her eyes blazing and wand out.

"_Avada_—"

"—_Kedavra!_"

A collective gasp rang throughout the huddled circle; the atmosphere no longer tense, but fearful. The body of the former most devoted Death Eater amongst them now lay unmoving on the floor.

Lucius Malfoy strode around her, looking at the motley crowd with cold grey eyes; wand still in hand.

"Anyone else who disagrees?" he asked. Though this subtle threat was only a shadow of Lord Voldemort's, it was enough to crush any thought of rebellion.

Slowly, one of the hooded figures dropped onto his knees, crawled towards Lucius Malfoy, and kissed the hem of his robe. The others soon followed, murmuring words of adoration that had previously been reserved for Voldemort.

Lucius raised the corner of his mouth in a smile. His reign had finally begun.


	2. In which Enemies Learn to Compromise

**AN~** I know that it's a very late update, and to be honest I don't have a lot of excuses. Other than the fact that I really couldn't get into the mood for writing, which is, yeah, I know, a pretty lame excuse. And I can't make any promises about updating in the future...other than that it's probably going to be pretty irregular. Anyways, thanks to all who reviewed, and I hope you like this chapter.

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Chapter Two – In which Enemies Learn to Compromise

Hermione woke to a throbbing headache. She felt strangely disorientated, and for a moment all thought of the war was hidden behind a veil. But then it hit her—the war, Death Eaters, Voldemort, flying sparks, and the lifeless bodies of both sides lying on the ground.

She gasped as the events of the Final Battle flashed through her mind, but before she could contemplate further, a voice painfully similar to that Mrs Weasley's cut into her thoughts.

"Finally, they're both awake. Ivy, go and inform the Headmaster immediately."

Headmaster? Dumbledore! That could only mean she had somehow survived after the beam hit her, and had been taken to the hospital wing. But that simultaneously meant that either the light side had won, or they had reached a stalemate, once again. She had never before so fervently wished she was right, but instinct told her something was out of place.

She looked around, only to see a familiar shade of red hair upon the head of a stranger, who was now brewing a potion the shade of puke. Apart from the fact that she had never seen this woman before, the peaceful atmosphere outside the hospital wing mixed with the distress that was absent upon this woman's features only confused her further.

For all her intelligence, Hermione couldn't form a question that would be acceptable regardless of the answer. But she didn't need to, for someone else asked the question.

"Who are you?"

Except that it was directed at her.

She had completely missed the person coming into the hospital wing. The wizard (for that was obvious) was tall and lean, with dark, lank hair and a goatee. His visage was vaguely familiar…

Phineas Nigellus Black!

How could this be possible? He was dead, ages ago…his portrait in the Headmaster's office and no. 12 Grimmauld Place only confirmed that. Her head spun with the effort of trying to figure out the puzzle this presented her. But she was not the smartest witch of her age for nothing; analysing her predicament, she came up with three solutions: she was in a parallel universe of which she knew nothing of, she was back in the time when Phineas Nigellus Black did indeed occupy the post of Headmaster, or…she was presently hallucinating in the same ward as Gilderoy Lockhart at St Mungo's. She was rather inclined towards the second explanation, but nothing could be confirmed until she could visit the library.

"MISS!"

The suddenly raised voice of Headmaster Black shook her out of her reverie.

"I…uh…I'm sorry?"

"Now that I have your attention, I can begin. You two were found on the grounds of Hogwarts near the lake, badly wounded. As you both seem to be underage, we have taken you into our custody instead of shipping you straight to the ministry for breaking into this institution. Explain." Black said in a harsh tone normally associated with Professor Snape. Apparently, it was a common trait in Slytherins.

Wait…two? Craning her neck, she was able to see another figure lying in the cot across from her. A boy around her age who looked suspiciously familiar…Tom Riddle! Who was, in her time and space, more commonly known as Lord Voldemort. She paled and was barely able to suppress a gasp before said dark wizard replied,

"Headmaster Black, I apologise for the inconvenience our presence must have caused. We were involved in a conflict between two Giant tribes who were fighting for dominance over our village. I think we're the only survivors……the entire village was devastated."

Under the headmaster's scrutinising gaze, Hermione nodded fervently, confirming Riddle's tale. For the moment, they would both have to put aside their differences and work together. She would have laughed at the thought if the situation weren't so serious. Working together with Voldemort…honestly!

"…and so we thought that Hogwarts was the only place we could go to. We apparated outside the gates and forced our way in." Riddle paused, as though embarrassed, and continued, "We were so desperate to see you, sir, and ever so worn out by the battle, that we didn't think."

There was a pregnant pause as Riddle finished his tale. Finally, Headmaster Black broke the silence.

"Very well. I shall consider this request for enrolment," turning to the nurse, he said, "Helena, if you would lead them to my office in ten minutes…I shall be going now."

And with that, he turned on his heels and stalked out of the hospital wing—leaving Hermione alone with Lord Voldemort in the guise of Tom Riddle and a defenceless medi-witch. In short, she was not in the position any sane witch would envy.

"Here, drink this," said the medi-witch, handing Hermione and Tom Riddle a goblet of the potion she had been brewing earlier.

She quickly downed the rank potion, feeling instantly refreshed despite the residual taste lingering at her throat. A quick glance at Riddle told her he'd done the same. Hermione then stood up, instinctively reaching for her wand before finding it was not by her bedside table as she'd previously assumed. Hoping Riddle was unarmed as well, she followed the nurse cautiously.

The short journey to the gargoyles guarding the Headmaster's office was taken in silence. The plump medi-witch was waddling in front while Hermione and Riddle followed a short distance behind. Both were too cautious to say anything in hearing distance of the nurse.

All too soon, they found themselves standing before the very familiar door to the Headmaster's office.

"Come in."

They entered, leaving the nurse behind.

"Have a seat." The Headmaster gestured to two wooden chairs from behind his desk—wearing his expression of faint disdain familiar to Hermione from the portraits she had seen of this infamous Slytherin in her time. Indeed, she had carried one around in her beaded bad on her search for the horcruxes (here she strongly resisted glaring at the person responsible) with Harry and Ron.

"As you know, this is a very unusual situation we have here, but as the only wizarding school in Britain, we are obliged to take in any magical person of school age wishing to study here… provided that you pass the entrance examinations of course. You will be placed in the year group best suited to your abilities, as your case is unique. You were previously home-schooled in your _village, _correct? " The two 'students' both nodded. "Very well…and your names are?"

"Hermione Jean Evans," she said after a brief hesitation, though her expression remained blank.

"Ian Marvolo"

Black wrote the names down on a piece of parchment before him, saying, "I will have to check this with the ministry records tomorrow, but for now you may sit the exams. Do not even think of cheating, as I will be personally supervising and marking your papers. Your wands, before you ask, will remain in my possession until after the exams."

The Headmaster put down his quill and waved his wand: instantly test papers appeared before them.

"You have two hours—starting now."

Little did he know then that the two students sitting before him were two of the greatest that ever graced the halls of Hogwarts.

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For the second time, Hermione Granger found herself beneath the old sorting hat, waiting with bated breath for its assessment.

Oddly enough, she was less nervous about the entrance exam papers she had just taken than this unpredictable assessment of character. Knowledge she could rely on, but how could she put her faith in something almost as vague as divination?

_Ahh…Miss Granger…come to be sorted again? I must say this is a surprise._

'What? I did not just resist hexing Riddle only to have her identity exposed by a tattered hat!'

_Relax, Miss Granger, for you are not the first to be sorted twice. Your secret is safe with me. Now…where to place you…_

'Gryffindor, obviously.'

_Hmm…but people can change drastically over the course of seven years, Miss Granger…are you sure? Your courage has not failed you, but other aspects of you have flourished. You are certainly not the same naïve girl I sorted in 1991._

'What do you mean?'

_You have grown. You have learned the ways of secrecy, cold calculation, and manipulation even. All are characteristics generally given to the house of Slytherin._

'No! I can't be in Slytherin. Not Slytherin. I'm a muggle-born…the others would skin me alive if they knew.'

_But they don't…not this time around, they don't have to. _

'I don't care. I am not going in Slytherin. Not with that psychopathic mass murderer bent on destroying the world who's coming to get sorted afterwards.'

_Well…if you're sure… Then better be_ GRYFFINDOR!—it shouted the last word.

Heaving a sigh of relief, she lifted the hat off of her head. This time was even worse than the last, when the hat was certain she'd do well in Ravenclaw. Hermione smiled at the memory—she'd convinced the hat to place her in Gryffindor after her 'stubbornness and refusal to listen to reasonable arguments obviously wouldn't make a good Ravenclaw.

As soon as the hat was not blocking her line of sight any more, she took in the room's occupant's reactions. Headmaster Black was pursing his lips slightly in contempt, but was too dignified as Headmaster to express his views more openly. Riddle's (or rather, _Marvolo_'s) face, on the other hand, showed no surprise or indeed emotion of any kind. That, again, was to be expected.

"Mr Marvolo, your turn."

He walked stiffly up to the hat, as though he was feeling humiliated at having to sit on a first year's stool and be re-sorted. If, that was, he could even _feel_.

The hat was barely in place before it screamed, "SLYTHERIN!"

Evidently, that immediately put him on the good book of the Headmaster, because he gave an approving nod to him before saying, with as much enthusiasm as was possible for a Slytherin Headmaster, "Brilliant house, I believe you will enjoy your time there, Mr Marvolo."

Turning to us both now, he said, "Your papers will be marked by tomorrow, and your timetable will be sorted then as well. I suggest you familiarise yourselves with the castle, or you may retreat to your dormitories. Here are the instructions to get into your respective common rooms," here he gave them each a sheet of parchment with a map of Hogwarts, "I will see you tomorrow at breakfast in the Great Hall, as classes will not start until next Monday. Good night."

And with that the door was shut in both their faces. On the way down the winding staircase, neither said anything.

It was only when they were a reasonable distance away from the gargoyles that Voldemort, finally dropping the façade of Tom Riddle, turned towards Hermione.

"You owe me an explanation, Granger."

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**AN~ **Don't kill me for the cliffie! I'm too tired now to write out the whole scene in this chapter, and anyways, if I did, you'd all have to wait that much longer for it! ;-)  
Aaand, don't forget to review! I don't mind flames, as long as it's constructive criticism, and I'm always open to flattery. (hint, hint)


	3. The Difficulty of Making Resolutions

**AN~** *Ducks pots and pans and rotten fruit being thrown her way* Okay okay, I'm sorry. I haven't updated in months, and...yes, I know (deal with it ;P), I haven't replied to any of your wonderful reviews yet...but I do have a very good excuse this time. No. Internet. Connection. Can anyone say annoying? Because I certainly can. Anyways, to save time, I'll reply to your reviews here this time, and hope you take the time to look back.

**deatheaterk**- Oops, sorry. But, really, she's far to stubborn to bend to the will of others, especially a millennium old hat.

**Ankoku Dezaia** - Ah...true, true. A mudblood best friend of Harry Potter sorted in _his_ house? And anyways, she's kind of lacking in the art of subtle cunning (as demonstrated in this chapter), though the hat thinks otherwise. A true Slytherin would not call truce like a Gryffindor. And look where calling truce like a Gryffindor got her...tut, tut.

**RainbowRabbit** - The joys of sailing the LV/HG ship! Honestly, there aren't enough LV/HG fics out there... it's one of the reasons I started writing this. =] Thanks for the support!

**nicole317, Jacamar, jamester56 and LK-HoGwArTs-hEaDgIrL** - Thanks! It's good to know I'm going in the right direction.

And now, on with the story...

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Chapter Three – The Difficulty of Making Resolutions

"You owe me an explanation, Granger."

She paled. Faced with the wrath of Lord Voldemort, Hermione did the only sensible thing she could think of—her Gryffindor courage which had only just deemed her fit to be in the house of the brave suddenly deserting her—she turned and fled.

What she did not take into account, however, was the fact that even in his sixteen year old body, Voldemort with his height advantage (meaning longer legs) could easily outrun her—not to mention the wide array of curses, hexes and jinxes that could sprout out of the 13 inch yew wand whose owner was notorious for his bad (and often fatal to anyone on the receiving end) temper.

She wasn't thinking about that at the time, as she was almost in a full blown panic attack. 'And who wouldn't be? In a full blown panic attack, I mean. If _they_ were sent back a hundred years with _The_ darkest Dark Lord of all time, then they, too, would have every right to go into a panic attack.' She thought bitterly amidst her desperation.

Luckily, she did not immediately get cursed, but instead felt an iron grip close upon her wrist before she got further than three metres.

"_What did you do to me?_" he hissed in her ear; the accusation laced with danger that was only capable of being produced by someone with the abilities to fulfil threats issued with no remorse.

"I…I didn't do anything." She stuttered, hating the way her own voice trembled.

"I…Ow! Let go of me" she squirmed in his grasp as his grip tightened around her wrist.

"What happened after your curse hit me?" he gritted out with barely restrained anger.

Well, if Riddle had forgotten about his wand, she most certainly had not. She plunged the hand that was not currently being crushed in a painful vice-like grip into her robe pocket, and jabbed it in the direction of Tom Marvolo Riddle.

"_Stupe-_"

But before she could complete the incantation, Riddle had released her now throbbing wrist and tackled her to the ground, before wrestling her wand away and dragging her into an unused classroom nearby.

Upon closing the door, he immediately let go of Hermione and dumped her unceremoniously onto the dusty floor. Riddle then went on to cast a series of wards around the room, murmuring complicated chants all the while.

With a smug smile that sent shivers up Hermione's spine, he said in a deadly tone, "Now that we won't be disturbed, I will ask you one more time. What happened before I was transported here?"

"I…I'm not sure. All I know is that a violet ray hit you in the chest before my own curse impacted, and then both rays came out of you and hit me. And then…well, and then I woke up in the infirmary here."

Riddle lifted her chin roughly to stare straight into Hermione's wide hazel brown eyes.

"_Legilimens_"

She briefly attempted to put up an Occlumency shield, to empty her mind of all thoughts and emotions, as Professor Snape had so long ago told Harry. However, she was no match for the Legilimency powers of Lord Voldemort, and soon she saw memories flash past her eyes—memories that resurfaced not of her own accord. She was powerless to stop him.

She was five, and her mother was screaming because she was floating in the air, almost like flying, she had thought—She was eight, and everyone was laughing at her during break time because she had answered all the questions right…again—She was jumping up and down in excitement because she was going to learn magic!—She was hiding under the sink while Harry—She was staring into a pair of yellow eyes—She was fifteen—She was at the Battle of Hogwarts, aiming yet another curse at Voldemort; another violet ray hit him; her own 'Tempus Rindictus' curse hit him as well; a bright flash of light, and black.

As quickly as it had started, he was out of her mind. She was on the floor in a spread-angled position, sweating profusely. Strands of her unruly hair were stuck to her forehead, and she felt as though she had sprinted the full length of a marathon. It was a minor miracle she hadn't passed out. Again.

Hermione lifted her head slightly—still panting—to see the form of Tom Riddle lounging comfortably in a puffy armchair that she was pretty sure hadn't been there before. His legs were draped over the armrest, and he appeared in deep thought. His wand was held loosely in his left hand, while the right was tapping the back of the armchair.

Hmm…on second thoughts, perhaps it would've been better if she _had_fainted. There was no escape now, so between fight or flight that only left…fight. She was not a Gryffindor for nothing. Hermione's previous cowardice had been induced by shock, panic, and fear. Now those emotions were still there, but had been dulled…or perhaps intensified by over-exposure to the point where she was numb to them. Either way, for whatever reason, her Gryffindor bravery and pigheadedness returned in full force. Perhaps the blow on her dignity, too, had something to do with that.

Slowly, with sheer willpower, she picked herself off the ground. Her head was still pounding from the assault on her mind, but she ignored it for now. Her heart was beating fiercely, as though it felt too threatened to remain in her chest. Hermione clenched her jaw and forced herself to continue. 'It has to be done, it _needs_ to be done, and perhaps, if _I_ do it, I can leave with a shred of my dignity intact…' she repeated these thoughts like a mantra, and allowed them to fill her with a confidence that she wouldn't usually, _logically_, allow herself to feel. She saw Riddle staring at her, and taking a deep breath, she began,

"Voldemort. I realise, and I hope that you do, too, that we are in this _together_. I trust you want to return to our proper time period as well, so I propose we reach a compromise. It would not do for _either_ of us to continue the war that was-is raging in our previous time period by ourselves, as it would be rather pointless if we don't return to our time. As we don't know anything about the circumstances that are required to time travel…well, I assume you don't since you seem rather confused yourself…we shouldn't harm each other to a degree that is irreversible since it might affect our ability to be transported through time. It might be that we need to be in somewhat the same physical condition as we were when we arrived, allowing for natural aging, that is."

A pregnant pause followed her speech. Riddle had stopped the tapping of his fingers, and was expressionless in his regard of her. She caught herself becoming mesmerised by the depth of his eyes, but quickly snapped herself out of it. Instead, she focused on glaring at him as best she could in an imitation of Snape. Her glare succeeded in carrying out her message: 'I wouldn't hesitate to kill you myself, you bastard of a murderer, but circumstances call for temporary peace, dammit!'

Only the fact that she hadn't a wand kept Hermione from growling in frustration. That tiny fact also caused her to feel extreme trepidation due to Riddle's continued lack of a response. Merlin help her if he refused to see reason.

Slowly, as calm and collected as ever, Lord Voldemort rose from the armchair, wand in hand. Hermione's trepidation multiplied tenfold and her inner mantra became a desperate plea. 'Please see reason, please see reason, please see reason…'

He began to circle her like a panther would its prey just moments before it pounces. Defiantly, she crossed her arms over her chest and followed his movements with her eyes.

"You make some valid points there," he said in a quiet voice. "However…" Voldemort stopped his circling and took a few steps back from her, "You need to learn not to take that tone with me. _Crucio_."

His wand flashed as he hissed the last word. She didn't even have time to blink before the Unforgivable hit her square on the chest. And suddenly there was pain. Pain on every inch of her body; pain the likes of which she had never felt before. A shrill scream resounded in the room; but it was barely acknowledged by Hermione, as the pain permeated her every sense, every nerve ending. She felt as though her head was being cracked open with a blunt axe; her innards were being twisted together; a thousand red hot needles pierced her skin. Just as she felt she could hold on to sanity no longer, it ended.

She was curled in the foetal position on the floor (once again), and panting heavily from the after affects. Her throat felt parched from the screaming, which she realised afterwards to be hers, and her clothes were torn in places from all the writhing around, she assumed, on the uneven, stone ground during her torture. A few nails were chipped and bleeding from clawing at the floor. Hermione didn't even have the energy to peel open her eyelids after her ordeal, and just stayed still on the ground, hoping that if she didn't move he wouldn't direct his attention at her.

However, that didn't stop her from hearing, and she heard his footsteps sounding loudly on the stone floor, coming to a stop next to where her head lay. He must've crouched down, she realised, when she felt the tip of a wand against her cheek tracing imaginary lines.

"Open your eyes."

She obeyed, hating herself all the while for doing so, just in time to see his lips curl into a satisfied smirk.

"Good girl. Now, for the sake of caution, you will refer to me at all times outside of a warded room as 'Marvolo'. You are to meet me every day after lessons in the library for research…I may have some use for even a mudblood like you, who knows?" Wisely, she chose not to rise to the bait. "So, are we at an agreement?"

She nodded, keenly aware of the wand now digging into her neck. Expressionless, he ordered, "Answer me."

She repressed a whimper as his wand pressed further into the soft flesh of her neck, and bit out, "Ye-Yes."

"Yes, what?" he smirked maliciously, obviously delighting in her pain.

"Yes, my lord," she said, resigned.

"Good," said Voldemort, standing up, "I expect you know your way to Griffindor Tower."

And without waiting for her reply, he lowered the wards with a flash of his wand and strode out of the room with his robes billowing behind him in a manner that would have made Professor Snape proud. Only as the tell tale footsteps of the Dark Lord diminished into silence did Hermione Granger stir from her position on the floor and gingerly pick herself up.

"Well, there go my last shreds of dignity," she said as she began the long and exhausting trip to her much awaited for bed.

---

The fire was roaring merrily in the kitchen of Number 12 Grimmauld Place, where the long table seated the majority of the Order of The Phoenix. Albus Dumbledore sat at the head of the table, looking as though he had aged overnight. The familiar twinkle in his kind blue eyes were now a rare occurrence, having now been almost completely obliterated by the war. Yes, everyone in the Order had to admit their leader had weakened. His years were catching up with him, and though that did nothing to affect their respect for the elderly Headmaster, it was obvious to all.

Today, contrary to the cheeriness the dancing flames attempted to convey, a heavy gloom had settled over the kitchen. Every visage was pale and drawn…even George Weasley no longer attempted to pull a prank now, not since the recent death of Fred.

"Anything to report?" asked the Headmaster wearily.

It was Remus Lupin who replied. "No. Nothing we found was not reported. The Daily Prophet hasn't been withholding much recently. There's a bit of exaggeration, naturally, but most of the articles are true."

"It's odd," said Harry, contemplatively, "You'd think that with Voldemort gone, the rest of the Death Eaters would stay quiet. Not start a riot. I mean, they're even more barbaric than before in their methods."

"Yeah," said Ron, "They're almost acting like a bunch of Hufflepuffs—with the loyalty and all. What happened to self-preservation?"

"Ron!" shushed Molly Weasley.

"The boy's got a point there, Molly. There's gotta be a conspiracy behind this…all this abnormal behaviour! Something's up. Albus, I think there's a new leader now…someone with a new regime…someone we know nothing about, Albus! They could have been bidding their time for the right moment to take over, and then _boom_!" Mundungus clapped his hands for emphasis, "Remember Mad-Eye Moody. Constant Vigilance!"

A furious roar sounded down the other side of the table. Ron stood, knocking his chair down in the process, and shouted, "How _dare_ you mention Moody! It was because of _your_ cowardly ass that he died! Have you no _shame_, you—"

"ENOUGH!" Dumbledore bellowed across the room. His voice carried weight where others' hadn't, and everyone immediately silenced.

"Well, this is as good a time as any to end this meeting. If no one has anything else to report?" His query was met with silence. "Very well. Severus, may I have a word please."

Everyone else filed out of the room, in too low spirits to maintain any curiosity they might have had about Snape. No one knew precisely what he did for the Order, but Dumbledore seemed to trust him implicitly so they tolerated and accepted his presence. Well, most of them. Many of the Order members who had previously been taught by said potions master were not so eager to make his acquaintance again. Yet, he was trusted by Dumbledore so there was not much they could do short of making his stay as unpleasant as possible.

Snape, for his part, was used to this.

"Severus, my dear boy, how have you been?" inquired Dumbledore.

"As good as can be expected, Headmaster," said Snape dryly before switching his tone, "Last week Tuesday …that is, the day after the Battle of Hogwarts, I tried contacting the others. I could not find any of them, and I thought that they must've had gone into hiding. However, last night, Goyle Sr. returned my owl, and told me that they had congregated at a remote location in the Himalayans." Snape retrieved an envelope from his robes and slid it across the table to Dumbledore. He waited patiently without a shred of emotion visible on his face while Dumbledore perused the contents of the letter.

"I believe," he said, once Dumbledore replaced the letter in its envelope, "I believe that Lucius has suspicions of my loyalty…either that, or he fears I seek to steal his recently gained leadership. It is most likely both these reasons, as he has solid proof for neither, that led him to exclude me in his…_invitation_." The last word was practically hissed out in contempt.

"I see." Said Dumbledore, simply. "I trust you know what you need to do, Severus."

Snape merely bowed his head in answer and stood up to leave. It was only when he was well away from Grimmauld Place that the thought struck him. For the first time since he could remember, Albus Dumbledore did not offer anyone a Lemon Drop.


End file.
